


Wanted: Wedding Crasher

by GenerallyHuxurious (GallifreyanOmnishambles)



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Conversations, Awkward First Times, Bad Puns, But Not in a Sad Way, COVID-19, Clothed Sex, Coming In Pants, Craigslist, Dick Jokes, Dirty Jokes, Frottage, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Implied Brendol Hux/Enric Pryde, M/M, Masks, Memes, Mentioned Millicent the Cat (Star Wars), Mild Blood, Misunderstandings, Napping, Pizza, Public Nudity, Red Pants, Sharing Clothes, Skinny Dipping, Texting, Tragic Pizza Loss, thank gods no one ever typed that tag before, this is a comedy I swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:14:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29535294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GallifreyanOmnishambles/pseuds/GenerallyHuxurious
Summary: BE NAKED AT MY FATHER'S WEDDING (Cherry Hill) - My father intends to marry the demon known as my step-mother in a mask-free non-socially-distanced ceremony in Central Park next month. I want someone to be naked in the woods and run through the wedding during the vows. I will reward you well and protect you from my family. $$$$ Compensation can be discussed privately.Or, Kylo Ren takes the only job he can find online- to ruin the wedding of a mysterious redhead's father.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Comments: 20
Kudos: 169





	Wanted: Wedding Crasher

**Author's Note:**

  * For [squire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/squire/gifts).



> Squire sent me a meme of someone looking to ruin their sister's wedding, and it immediately sounded like something Hux would do. So he did.
> 
> Happy Pisces season.
> 
> PS- this story is set in the pandemic, but its a fictional comedy and no one is harmed. Please take care of yourselves.

**Be naked at my father’s wedding (Cherry Hill)** \- My father intends to marry the demon known as my step-mother in a mask-free non-socially-distanced ceremony in Central Park next month. I want someone to be naked in the woods and run through the wedding during the vows. I will reward you well and protect you from my family. $$$$ Compensation can be discussed privately.

Kylo read through the ad for a fourth time while his stomach growled quietly to itself. There was no point complaining to him—if he’d had money for food he wouldn’t have been trawling Craigslist for ways to pay his portion of the rent and keep the internet on. 

He’d known it would be hard to make his name in New York with a heavy metal band, but no one could have predicted lockdown. Everyone was struggling, or so it seemed to him. 

Half the band was out all day delivering food or packages. That might have been a viable side gig for him—he was a great driver—but someone had stolen his motorcycle months ago and he hadn’t insured it. Without a job he couldn’t replace it, and he was far too big and far too proud to pedal around like a kid on a paper route.

In the next room he could hear the bedsprings creaking as two of his roommates made their own rent though some kind of camboy gig. That was definitely out. Not because he wasn’t hot—he’d spent years getting his body to look the way it did—but he was too recognisable to do that on camera. Something would be bound to get back to Leia. He was an adult but he didn’t need his mom’s political friends breathing down his neck.

He’d tried freelance writing but he’d never been one for words; data entry bored him senseless; medical studies turned him down for his sexual history; and he’d been blacklisted from teaching guitar through zoom after the fourth kid ran out crying.

So, here he was, scrolling through the dregs of the help wanted ads, and wondering if $$$$ was worth the risk of getting arrested. 

Did four dollar signs indicate a four figure payment or just three? Or was just the author’s way of saying ‘lots of cash’, which could mean anything at all? Some people would think $50 and a cigarette was good payment for what would probably be five minutes of running. 

Then again, what would be the harm in asking?

Before he over-thought this any more than he already had, he clicked on the reply button and sent, ‘Define $$$$.’

Kylo blinked in surprise when an answer appeared before he’d even clicked through to another browser window. 

‘Congratulations, you’re the first person to reply with words instead of a dick pic,’ the reply read. There was no name or greeting, but then Kylo hadn’t included those either.

‘I can send one if it helps, but it’ll take me a minute to set up the tripod, my arms aren’t long enough to get it all in frame.’ The well worn line flew from Kylo’s fingers of its own volition. Perhaps flirting wasn’t the best choice but he’d already pressed send.

‘No thank you, I prefer the occasional small surprise in life. $$$$ means anything within reason for discrete assistance in this matter. I want to irritate him, I don’t want it filmed and put on YouTube for all the world to see.’

Kylo snorted. ‘I guarantee it won’t be a  _ small _ surprise, but that’s fine by me. If you wanted discretion you probably shouldn’t have posted on Craigslist, half the perverts in Manhattan will have seen this by now. I’m not interested in going viral though, I just want the money. Six grand.’

He crossed his fingers as he pressed send this time. He was asking for a lot of money, but the pay had to match the risk.

‘Yes, and I’ve had the displeasure of seeing all those perverts’ rather disappointing penises. But since I blocked them immediately and there are half a dozen weddings a day in that part of the park, despite the current situation, I doubt anyone will work out which one is intended.’

‘Not to talk myself out of a job here, but surely people will know as soon as I run down the aisle? You said ‘father’ in the listing. Or do you have a sibling you want to frame too? If you want me to shout ‘X made me do it’ I’ll have to charge extra.’

This time there was no immediate reply.

Perhaps they’d realised the whole thing was a bad idea. 

* * *

Armitage Hux sighed around the fingertip he’d been compulsively chewing on for the last five minutes. 

The internet stranger was right—he had been horribly indiscreet when he wrote that ad, in the way that only someone who’d got so angrily drunk that he was still hungover two days later could be indiscreet. 

He had just searched ‘wedding naked craigslist’ and his post had already been widely shared on all kinds of social media platforms. It made perfect clickbait material. But would Brendol see it? 

His father didn’t use the internet, he had secretaries for that, but Maratelle probably lurked in some dark corner of Facebook spreading gossip about the wives and mistresses of other powerful men. He couldn’t imagine her seeking out humorous content—there was a very real risk that her face might crack if she smiled—but schadenfreude was definitely in her repertoire. It’d probably warm her frozen heart to think of someone else’s wedding being ruined.

Did it really matter if they knew he’d done it though? Brendol had already made it clear that they were finally marrying legally in order to cut Armitage out of any potential inheritance. There weren’t any other consequences left. What more could they do to him? 

Ever since Brendol had sold his legal practice to Snoke, Armitage wasn’t his employee any more, so he couldn’t get fired. He’d inherited his apartment from his mother, so he wouldn’t lose his home. And the holidays had always been hell, so being cut off was more of a blessing than a curse.

A quiet voice whispered in the back of his mind that an awful lot of Brendol’s competitors had died under mysterious circumstances, but that was just paranoia, wasn’t it?

The men's room door slammed open, bouncing hard against the rubber stopper that kept the handle from shattering the tiled wall behind it. 

A voice asked, “Did you get an invite to the old man’s wedding?” 

The man asking the question was one of Pryde’s obnoxious property lawyers from the eighth floor, probably looking for his third line of coke in as many hours.

Who he was talking to Armitage couldn’t tell from the noncommittal grunt of reply, though the shoes passing his cubicle were expensive. 

“I bet little Huxie will be as red as his pubes, watching all that money get signed away out of his grasp,” the first voice went on over the sound of piss hitting a urinal. 

Armitage would have very much liked to have stabbed him in the kidneys. He hated that fucking nickname. 

A shame he’d never had the guts to go through with any daydreams of revenge. 

Outside there was the telltale sound of sniffing, and a disgusting lack of any kind of handwashing.

“Honestly, I think I might go just to laugh in his face.” The man said as the door creaked open again. “Can’t say there’s been much to enjoy this year, but watching Huxie sit through losing everything might be just the boost I need.”

Armitage looked at the phone in his hand. His thumb had brushed the fingerprint sensor and unlocked the screen again, showing the conversation where he’d at least been able to pretend he was calm, cool, and collected. This anonymous stranger had no idea he was hiding in the men’s room, futilely seething at his colleague’s disrespect for him. 

* * *

‘I honestly don’t care if he works out it was me.’

Kylo blinked at the notification in the corner of his laptop screen. For a moment he didn’t connect it to the conversation he’d been having half an hour before, until a second message added—

‘I don’t want you to shout anything, but I’ll increase the pay to ten grand if you’re willing to write something on yourself.’ 

Huh.

So, the guy looking for a nude wedding crasher was willing to pay more if he wrote on himself. A lot more.

Pulling his shirt off with one hand Kylo fumbled awkwardly for the kohl eyeliner he knew he’d left somewhere on the floor by his bed. 

* * *

Armitage was glad he’d closed the toilet seat when he sat down, or he would have dropped it straight to a watery demise the next time his phone buzzed. 

The man had replied with a selfie of a thickly muscled chest adorned with the words ‘wHAt dO U wANt Me tO WRite?’ 

For some reason—probably for privacy—his face was covered by a startlingly realistic Darth Vader helmet. 

Armitage had never been interested in science-fiction but the character was ubiquitous enough that even he could recognise it. Whether Brendol would or not, Armitage didn’t care, either way it would be hilarious.

‘How about starting with your phone number?’ Replied the part of Armitage that hadn’t been laid in two years. 

That part of his psyche was already thinking up eight or nine better uses for those plush pecs, and was roundly cursing him for turning down the dick pic earlier. His professionalism tried to suppress all those thoughts, but it was already a losing battle.

A moment later his cock was trying to raise a flag of defeat when a second image came through, a phone number written over black smears where the previous writing had been rubbed away. He’d never thought it would be possible to be jealous of fingerprints on someone else’s skin.

‘What are you using to write?’ He asked as he saved the pictures to a private folder for future contemplation. ‘Easily removable would be best.’

‘Eyeliner.’ 

‘Your girlfriend’s?’

‘No. Mine. It wipes away.’

Before Armitage could formulate a reply a second message came through. ‘Hey, are you a guy or a girl? Not that I have a preference, but I am sending you a lot of freebies here.’

The words ‘not that I have a preference’ seemed to float off the screen and dance slowly around Armitage’s head. 

Against his better judgment he swiped to the front facing camera. 

* * *

Kylo hadn’t really been expecting a picture in return, but he liked what he saw. The man had artfully cropped the photo to show only rose-gold stubble, a slender neck, and a finger pressed between moist lips that had clearly been made for sucking cock. 

While he was staring, his own bottom lip caught thoughtfully between his teeth, another notification appeared at the top of the screen.

‘Not that you could recognise me from that. Unlike my father I will be wearing a mask to the event.’

‘If the rest of you looks even half as slutty, I’m sure I’ll recognise you.’ That was probably a really stupid thing to say when there was ten thousand dollars on the line, but Kylo wasn’t thinking with his brain any more.

‘Don’t look at the crowd, just concentrate on running. I’ll text you in a few days with the time, date, and what I want you to write. You should probably look at the map of the park and come up with a plan. I don’t want to know the details. If I don’t know where you’re going, then I won’t need to lie about it to anyone.’

* * *

The park was chilly, but Armitage felt like he was stifling in his perfectly tailored Burberry suit. 

Perhaps it was the rich satin material of his mask that he’d had made to match the deep blue tie and pocket square. Perhaps it was nervous anticipation of what should be about to happen. Perhaps it was last minute doubts about his own plans. 

He was glad for the mask, and all those years learning to keep his expression professionally blank. 

Brendol had barely looked at him when he’d taken his place by the altar. Not that Armitage was all that close to him. They’d never been emotionally close, but physically there was at least forty feet between them.

Although there were the traditional rows of seats, Armitage had elected to stand at the back with the other people who hadn’t had the guts to refuse the invitation but who still wanted to stand two metres apart.

He had noticed that his name wasn’t amongst the reserved seating list. Maratelle had probably meant to be a devastating insult rather than a blessing.

At this distance he didn’t have to acknowledge her,  _ and _ he had an excellent view for what followed.

It began as a rhythmic noise—somewhere between shoes jogging over leaves and the incongruous slap of bare feet against tile—growing gradually louder under the tinny recording of Pachelbel’s Canon in D that accompanied Maratelle’s own slow drift down the aisle.

A peach-coloured blur flashed between the trees behind the altar. As the shape tracing a circle around the clearing it drew the gaze of a good portion of the waiting crowd. This of course meant that people were no longer looking at Maratelle, who hissed in frustration. 

More and more curious faces turned to follow the shape as it completed a lap of the venue. 

A murmuring grew amongst the crowd until even Brendol—who had been the very last person still focused on his bride-to-be—spun around to look towards the running slapping figure.

The leap over the gorse bush into the clearing was both impressive and foolhardy, what with the streaker being entirely naked except for his Vader helmet and combat boots. 

The head of his cock had almost brushed the leaves as it slapped against his legs, swinging at a length that made the inside of Armitage’s mask feel suddenly stifling.

Maratelle’s shriek of indignation was also lost as the murmurs became gasps, but Armitage knew the memory of that sound would keep him warm at night for years to come. He’d also cherish Brendol’s own roar when the streaker finally darted past close enough for the words written on both his chest to be read.

‘wHY NoT hAVe MoRE PRYDE iN yOUrSeLf? aGaIN’

As the man ran in a figure-eight around the seating—keeping easily out of Brendol’s reach—Armitage couldn’t help but smile to himself behind his own mask. He was very proud of that phrasing. 

It could be passed off as just a misspelled aphorism, but anyone who knew the not-so-happy couple would know about their checkered business history with Enric Pryde. 

A few of the inner circle might also know about their  _ personal  _ history with Pryde too, which was definitely the reason why Maratelle had stopped Brendol’s pursuit of the streaker in favour of hitting him with her bouquet.

His father and step-mother might be the only people Armitage had ever met who had both cheated on each other with the same person. What Pryde saw in them was a mystery, but then again all his employees were awful too. 

The escalating violence between the bride and groom was enough of a distraction for the streaker to disappear back into the woods without much comment from the crowd. Most people were already on their phones, either typing out hurried messages or raising them to film Maratelle attempting to pull Brendol’s beard off with her own bare hands. 

Armitage could have taken that opportunity to slip away, but that seemed a little too risky in the moment. He didn’t want people to notice he was gone at the same time they realised the streaker had left. 

Besides, there were police officers appearing at the edge of the clearing now. 

He should probably speak to them. 

* * *

The water in the lake was colder and dirtier than Kylo had been expecting, though that might have just been the effect of running several miles further than he’d planned. 

Kylo had—both intentionally and accidentally—run through multiple public events as he wove through the sprawling park. His original thought had been to give his patron a bit more protection from the viral spread of his craigslist post, but that had quickly turned into trying to stay ahead of angry event organisers. 

Not everyone whose day he had ruined was as unfit as his target or as easily distracted. 

Plus running in this helmet was much harder than his days playing highschool football. 

Vader never ran anywhere for good reason—he couldn’t see his fucking feet. Or oncoming trees. Or horrible yappy little dogs that appeared out of nowhere to snap at his cock.

If he hadn’t run through that construction site he might never have gotten away. 

The freshly poured cement had probably ruined his boots even before he’d even leapt into the lake. Hopefully the water would prevent it setting onto his skin.

He was hiding under a bridge at least half a mile from where he’d hidden his spare clothes. He had no idea how he was going to get to them, but he didn’t need cement in his leg hair as well.

There was a duck glaring at him from a support beam. 

Occasionally it snapped at his helmet.

* * *

Armitage hadn’t needed to linger at the venue after all. 

In fact, he and the other wedding guests had been ordered to disperse by a harried looking police officer who had been trying to peel Maratelle off the back of his colleague. She had not taken kindly to being told to ‘calm down’.

Direct orders from an official source would be a fantastic excuse to not help when Brendol was inevitably arrested for trying to back up his almost-wife.

The fact that they hadn’t actually managed to get married—because the officiant had also run away from the police—was the icing on the proverbial cake for Armitage.

The icing from the real wedding cake was smeared all over Brendol’s suit.

He really hadn’t expected things to escalate quite so far.

Buoyed by all these wonderful events he found himself wandering through the park, admiring the views, enjoying the sunshine, and trying to ignore the occasional groups of disgruntled picnic-goers who seemed to have encountered his streaker.

At least none of them could see his slightly guilty cringes behind his mask.

His phone buzzed quietly in his pocket.

For a moment he considered ignoring the sound—assuming it was probably something to do with the ruined wedding—until it buzzed again and he remembered he’d muted all but one number today. 

‘Sorry I couldn’t make it to the wedding, when will you be free?’ read the innocuous message from the contact he’d saved as ‘Craig’. He didn’t know the guy’s name, and he hadn’t asked. Better to be anonymous until the deed was done.

It was definitely done now, judging by the pair of police cars edging slowly out of the park in the distance, but they’d agreed to meet in five hours at Battery Park to sort out the money. So why was the streaker messaging him now? Was this how being blackmailed would start?

Swallowing down his nerves Armitage typed back, ‘I’m free now, why?’

Immediately the phone began to ring.

“Hello?” Armitage murmured, suddenly aware of every other person in the park, and every shadow that could be concealing someone. 

“Are you still in the park?” The voice on the other end of the line was a deep rumble that tied his already confused stomach into further knots.

“Yes, I’m on West Drive, near th—”

The Craigslist streaker cut him off mid sentence with more impertinence than Armitage was used to dealing with. His libido attempted to do a flip. “Can you get to the Hanging Rock?”

“Why?” He knew that area of the park—it was more secluded than his paranoia would have liked right now. Except the little voice that was fighting to the front of his brain and shouting about all that muscle. That part of his memory was very much in favour of ‘secluded’.

“I uh…” 

Something in the background quacked. There was a definite sound of splashing.

“I hid my clothes up there. But I’m  _ not  _ there.”

“So where are you?” Armitage asked. At first the only response was more splashing and quacking, then the chime of his phone receiving a picture message.

The image was a screenshot of a map app, showing the ‘you are here’ marker pointing to one end of a bridge on the far side of the lake.

“Isn’t that a bit public?!”

“I’m not on it, I’m under it. So I’d really appreciate some clothes before I die of hypothermia,” Another flurry of quacks. “Or this duck tries to peck me to death.”

* * *

‘Hang on. I might have an idea.’ That was the last message he’d received, and that was half an hour ago.

Kylo tried to hold in his sigh of frustration as he stared again at the photograph of an empty patch of earth under the bench where his clothes should have been. 

The duck had finally fallen asleep so he didn’t want to wake it again, but he felt like screaming. 

His employer had found no sign of the neat little bundle of spare clothes that he’d hidden up near the Hanging Rock before his streaking spree. Whether it had been stolen or simply removed as trash, it didn’t really matter. Unless the man found another solution soon, he’d have to get out of the lake and find some way to get home with no damn clothes.

He couldn’t even steal some kid’s balloons like the guy in American Werewolf in London, all those places were closed. Perhaps he could snatch a picnic blanket or something.

“Ahem.” Said a semi-familiar British voice above him in the least casual way imaginable. His employer had the kind of accent that sounded like he had a stick up his ass, or at least desperately needed one. 

There was a wool coat hanging over the edge of the bridge, the long kind that made most people look like either a hitman or an undertaker. 

Kylo tried to climb out of the lake quickly with the minimum of noise, but the cold had put his legs to sleep, so the manoeuvre ended up as more of a slow uncoordinated flail than he would have liked.

Still he managed to get himself wrapped in the coat without flashing anyone. Or at least if he did no one screamed at the sight. This was New York after all, no one really cared so long as he wasn’t ruining their day.

“You uh, don’t have your helmet on any more,” the man who’d hired him was still on the bridge, but Kylo was far enough up the slope now that they were almost face-to-face. It was hard to tell behind the dark blue mask but he seemed to be blushing. His eyes were certainly darting around in a way that suggested he wasn’t feeling so calm. 

“Wouldn’t be discreet if I did, would it?” Kylo replied, trying not to let his teeth chatter too much. He staggered up the nearby rock and began the process of tipping muddy water out of his boots. “It’s not worth retrieving. Let the ducks have it.”

“Fair,” the man said, then tipped his head slightly. “There’s a spare mask in the breast pocket, it hasn’t been worn. How far are you from home?”

Staring at the mess that had fallen out of his boots, and the way his soggy socks clung to his frozen toes, Kylo sighed. “Pretty fucking far.”

The coat helped a little, but the satin lining kept the damp close to his skin. It was going to be a miserable journey.

“I live quite close by.”

“Good for you.”

“I  _ meant _ ,” the man snapped, “you can come back to mine.”

“I charge extra for that,” Kylo’s smartmouth replied before his common sense could intervene. 

“I did not mean that!” Whether the redness of the man’s face was anger or embarrassment Kylo couldn’t tell, but he certainly glanced around like he was about to be caught soliciting. 

Urgh, putting his boots back on was definitely worse than taking them off. 

“I was talking about a shower and some dry clothes! I’m not giving you my coat!” The man bristled, fists balled at his sides and one lock of his gelled hair hanging over his forehead.

Kylo had always loved to push buttons, especially when they belonged to attractive but highly strung guys. It was one of his many failings. The sex was usually amazing though.

He considered the man again, giving him a deliberately lingering look from his skinny legs up to his narrow shoulders. They were about the same height, but Kylo had at least eighty pounds of muscle over him. 

“It’d be a squeeze, fitting into your…” Kylo smiled slightly, “...clothes.”

The man looked like he wanted to throw his phone at him, but he didn’t walk away.

“Put the mask on, you’ve probably caught all kinds of things from that lake.”

* * *

Inviting the streaker back to his apartment hadn’t been part of the plan. 

Hell, Armitage hadn’t even intended to speak to him. 

That was a lie he had been telling himself ever since he’d first seen an image of the man’s chest, and the sight of him running naked around the venue had done nothing to help. 

He had  _ definitely _ been planning to speak to him eventually—when he was somewhere private enough to continue their phone flirting, and maybe more. Unlike his father Armitage was taking his health seriously, but even in the before times he wouldn’t have invited someone home right away. 

But he also couldn’t just leave the man in a lake where he might get found by the police. It’d be bad enough to be legally linked to the streaker, but Armitage’s phone number being found on a frozen body would have made matters infinitely worse. 

So, really he was acting more on altruism rather than the promise of getting the man naked in his shower.

That was another lie.

“Going to tell me your name, or are you not giving me that either?” The man asked, jogging slightly to catch up with Armitage’s stride. 

* * *

A few people had looked up at the wet squelching of Kylo’s boots as they made their way through the park, but otherwise no one was paying any attention to them. Kylo had let his hair down so the ends could dry out, and the coat flared just enough to cover his bare legs—apart from the unfortunate noise there was nothing interesting about them.

If his wet socks weren’t starting to chafe Kylo would have been content to walk in silence a few paces behind the other man. He clearly got his suits tailored so the view was good back there, but Kylo needed the distraction.

So he tried to start a conversation, by asking the man’s name. Kylo wasn’t one for shaking hands but he figured that he should probably introduce himself to the owner of the coat his dick was currently rubbing against. 

“I don’t use my first name, it's awful,” came the half distracted reply.

“Makes sense. My name was a combination of boring and stupid, so I changed it. I’m Kylo.” 

The man glanced at him, then went back to staring straight ahead. “I thought you said you’d changed it from a stupid name.”

“Image is important when you’re in a band.”

“Ah, so that’s why you answered my Craigslist ad.”

“At least I just blocked my parents and moved two thousand miles away, like a normal person,” Kylo huffed.

“You just ran through a park wearing nothing but a plastic helmet.”

“And the world’s most absorbent boots.”

With a sharp gesture to his left, the man directed them towards the door of an apartment building half hidden between two empty retail units. 

It didn’t look like much from the outside, but the lobby had the kind of sparse industrial look that only poverty or wealth could achieve. The uniform of the bored looking security guard suggested the latter. 

Kylo did his best to walk lightly across the tiles. He didn’t want the squelching of his shoes to get him thrown out—not this close to the relief of finally getting out of them. 

“I’d suggest taking the stairs, but I guess that wouldn’t be so pleasant right now,” the man said as he swiped a keycard for the elevator. 

“Thanks.”

“Hux.”

“What?”

“That’s what you can call me. Hux.”

Kylo weighed the risks of saying the joke that initially came to mind, but now that he was standing still again the cold was seeping back into his bones. It wasn’t worth it.

“What do I have to do to get your first name?”

The look Hux gave him over the top of his mask was almost unreadable. The blush, and the nervous glance towards the guard, however, those were much clearer.

* * *

Armitage leant against the kitchen counter, nervously tapping his fingers against the lid of the pizza boxes he’d just collected from the lobby.

He’d been inspired to order the food when Kylo’s chattering teeth and rumbling stomach had broken the awkward silence in the elevator. It had been easier to fiddle with the app on his phone, and debate the merits of various toppings, than to deal with the moral questions of flirting with this man. 

The word ‘topping’ hadn’t really helped—he’d dropped his phone more than once at the deadpan way Kylo had emphasised it. 

In the end he’d had to retreat to his room to calm down, and to ‘look for clothes that might fit’, while Kylo tried to wash away the smell of the lake. 

He hadn’t really needed to look far for clothes—Armitage almost never wore anything baggy so there had only been two options for Kylo to choose from. A yellow and pink unitard that had arrived far too late and far too large to serve as a Halloween costume, or worn out grey gym sweats paired with a shirt a long-gone boyfriend had bought him solely for the glazed donut design.

It had taken only a few seconds of consideration for Armitage to shove the yellow and pink monstrosity back into his wardrobe. He did want to call Kylo again, after a decent amount of time and some health precautions, and there was no way anyone with eyes would speak to him again if they saw that unitard.

When his phone buzzed to announce the arrival of the pizza but Kylo was still in the shower, Armitage had opened the bathroom door just wide enough to throw the clothes onto the counter and apologise for the fact that the man would have to go commando. 

Armitage didn’t own any underwear that could possibly fit Kylo, except possibly as a garter.

Now he’d returned to his apartment to find the man fully dressed—the shirt’s decal stretched across his muscular pecs until the ring donut was almost flat—and fast asleep on the couch. 

He was snoring with his head tipped back but Armitage barely noticed that. 

The sweat pants—Armitage’s sweat pants, the ones he’d worn just this morning for yoga—looked like they’d almost been painted onto Kylo’s skin. It was very clear he wasn’t wearing underwear.

There was a strip of pale belly peeking out between the waistband and shirt. Softer than Armitage would have expected, like his eight-pack abs had vanished with the relaxation of sleep. 

Armitage really, really wanted to lick it. 

Instead, he grabbed a slice of his own pizza to nibble at while he decided what to do.

He had already tried slamming the door, ringing Kylo’s phone and calling his name but the man hadn’t woken up. If anything he’d just snored louder. Armitage didn’t really want to shake him awake when they had been maintaining distance and masks the whole time. 

Kylo had run quite a long way in the nude and spent over an hour in a cold lake. 

Perhaps the kindest thing would be to let him nap for a while.

On the couch, Kylo shifted slightly. The hand that had been resting slack at his side drifted to his crotch where it settled loosely around the outline of his cock.

Armitage almost bit through his own fingers as he missed the next mouthful of pizza.

He really shouldn’t be standing in the kitchen watching this sleeping stranger fondle himself. 

Moving to his bedroom to give him some privacy would be the right thing to do.

Definitely.

Any minute now.

How the second slice of pizza had made it into his hand he really couldn’t say.

He certainly didn’t remember pulling one of the tall stools out from under the breakfast bar, but apparently he was sitting on it now. 

He really wished he’d changed clothes before he’d collected the pizza because his suit pants were getting a bit tight.

Speaking of which—there was a definite tent in Kylo’s now.

Tragically, that was the moment Armitage’s phone chose to remind him about the important piece of work he needed to get done that evening. Although the sound didn’t wake Kylo it was enough to make him roll onto his side, and sink into a deeper, less handsy, sleep.

With a sigh Armitage grabbed a sharpie to write a note on the second pizza box. The man would probably wake up soon, but if not he would hopefully read the note before he left. 

* * *

Kylo woke to darkness, his limbs feeling cold and stiff from who knew how many hours on the couch. It wouldn’t be the first time his roommates had just left him when he fell asleep in the middle of a movie. He just had to hope no one had drawn anything on him this time.

His back popped loudly as he stretched. Every muscle was complaining. 

What had he been doing? 

The stretch turned into a yawn. 

He was too tired to care. It was clearly still dark out—he should just go to bed and get more sleep. Tomorrow’s Kylo could deal with… whatever.

Someone had moved the coffee table again, putting it right in his path so he bruised his shin and stumbled over the empty pizza boxes that were scattered across the floor. 

He should find tidier roommates. There was all kinds of crap where it shouldn’t be. 

In the short distance to his bedroom he fell over a chair, a suitcase, some kind of big vase he didn’t even remember them owning, and multiple pairs of shoes.

It was a relief to get the door open and the softness of the comforter under his hands. At least in bed there wouldn’t be any more surprises. Just rest and warmth.

So warm. 

Kylo had known he was chilly but in comparison to the heat under his blankets, his bones felt like he’d just come back from an antarctic mission. 

This was bliss.

Another yawn, a wriggle to get comfortable against his pillow, and sleep closed in once more.

* * *

Armitage woke to the gentle chiming of his alarm and a moment of trepidation at the unusual warmth of his habitually temperate body. 

This was immediately followed by several minutes of absolute panic at the presence of the strange man in his bed, who was wrapped around Armitage’s torso like an overly-familiar octopus. Or had been until Armitage elbowed him in the face to escape his grasp.

“What the fuck?” Muttered the individual who was now cradling his bruised eye and seemed to be wearing one of Armitage’s own shirts. “What was that for?!”

“What do you mean ‘what was that for?’ What the fuck are you doing in my bed? Who the fu—” Armitage cut himself off as yesterday’s glorious wedding disruption played across his brain in full technicolour. “Oh. You streaked at my father’s wedding, I remember now. But that still doesn’t explain why you’re in my bed. You were on the couch when I left you.”

The man—who Armitage now remembered went by the name of Kylo—looked blearily around the space with his uninjured eye.

“I thought this was my room.”

“You don’t live here!”

“It was dark!”

Armitage had edged halfway around the bed towards the living room before he realised there was no point keeping distance from Kylo any more. They’d just spent an unknown amount of time spooning in their sleep. It wasn’t really possible to get closer than that, certainly not without noticing.

The memory of Kylo’s cock slapping against his thighs as he ran through Brendol’s wedding replayed in slow motion across Armitage’s brain again, accompanied by a backing track of lonely frustration. 

He sighed and tried to walk the remaining distance into the other room as normally as possible. There was a serious situation going on. He should focus on that, not the fact that he hadn’t touched another person that closely in years.

Kylo’s story checked out—the living room was in complete darkness beyond the light coming from his own bedroom door.

The blinds were down. The lights were off. The pizza box he’d written the note on was sitting face down on the floor, surrounded by small red saucy footprints that suggested his cat had been helping herself to the leftover pepperoni. 

“Dammit,” Armitage said more to himself than to anyone else. 

He’d been so careful for so long, and now he’d exposed himself to a complete stranger.

No one to blame. Nothing he could do to change the situation.

He turned back to look at the unexpected house guest still laying in his bed.

Kylo was still sleepily blinking at him, one eye only slightly redder than the other now. His hair was rumpled. The too-small donut shirt had ridden up under his pecs like a crop top. The sweat pants he’d lent him were lost under the sheets so it looked like he could be wearing nothing at all below the waist. 

When was the last time he’d seen anyone looking that good in his room? 

Probably never. There wasn’t a mirror in there. 

But setting aside his own conceit for a minute, it  _ had  _ been two years since he’d last woken up with anyone else. His own body was more and more insistently reminding him of that particular fact.

“I like your sleepwear,” Kylo said. “I knew there’d be a good view under those suit pants.”

Armitage looked down, realising far too late that he’d only managed to stripe down to his briefs before tumbling into bed around midnight.

He was wearing his lucky briefs. 

The ones he’d worn to all his professional exams.

Bright red with ‘superstar’ written in white across his arse. 

Kylo was leaning back against the pillows now like he owned the place. He’d put his hands behind his head in a way that was clearly meant to emphasize his muscles.

The sensible parts of Armitage’s brain wanted to shout at him. 

They were overruled.

“I take it you don’t have a job to get back to?” He asked instead.

* * *

Kylo’s pride wanted to roar at that, but Hux wasn’t wrong. Besides—the bed was warm, the uptight man with the amazing ass looked like he wanted to eat him whole, and Kylo really didn’t have anywhere else to be.

“Harsh. But fair.”

“You’re in a band, and you agreed to run naked through Central Park for ten grand,” Hux smirked, “you can’t tell me you have many opportunities right now.”

“I can think of one or two ways to keep busy,” Kylo replied, deliberately flexing his hips.

Hux’ self satisfied smile faded a little under the heat of his blush. “I’m not paying you for… anything else. I just want to make that clear. This isn’t business.”

“Then what is it?”

There were blotches of pink forming across Hux’ chest now too. Kylo wondered how far it might go and what he’d need to do to make it a full body effect.

“You have roommates?” Hux directed the question to a point somewhere to Kylo’s left.

Kylo shrugged. “I live with my band. They have jobs, and side gigs. Why?”

“Well, I  _ was _ just at a high risk social event, that was also probably high-profile thanks to the mysterious appearance of a streaker, so if I were to call into the office and claim I feel unwell… it would be perfectly reasonable for me to work from home for two weeks.” Now Hux was making eye-contact with him again. It was definitely the part of his personality that would ruin his own father’s wedding that was looking out at him. “And of course, you wouldn’t want to risk taking anything home to your band, would you?”

Apparently all Hux’s nerves faded away once he worked out how to turn a situation to his own advantage. Something of a control freak perhaps. Kylo would have to remember that.

“Do you feel ‘unwell’?” Kylo leant forward slightly, beckoning Hux closer. “Because you do look a little flushed. Perhaps I should check your temperature?”

Hux snorted derisively, but crossed the room all the same. 

Although he’d seemingly spent the night cuddling him, Kylo was still surprised at just how delicate he was up close. Skin so pale it was almost translucent underneath the blush and a dusting of freckles.

Kylo’s hand wrapped all the way around Hux’ bicep when he instinctively steadied his climb onto the bed, where Hux immediately straddled his lap. His other hand discovered that his ass was also a perfect handful.

The grey gym pants he was wearing were too tight for comfort, but with his cock trapped against his belly by the waistband and Hux’ own weight, Kylo was far too busy teasing Hux to care. 

A dark patch had already appeared at the front of his tented red briefs the instant he sat back. Kylo wanted to see how quickly he could ruin them. 

“Hmm, warm here,” He murmured, kneading Hux’ ass for a moment before he slipped his hand under the waistband to repeat the gesture over bare skin. “Mmmmm… hard to say.”

Hux rolled his eyes and his hips, pulling a groan from Kylo at the sensation.

“Definitely hard,” Hux said with a deadpan look. The attempt at staying cool failed when he glanced down at where their cocks were pressed together through the damp fabric and somehow blushed even deeper. Kylo could feel the heat everywhere they were touching. “Oh fuck.”

“Not gonna last that long, not this time,” Kylo ground up, lifting Hux with his hips, and grinning when the other man grabbed at his chest to keep his seat. “Good thing we’ve got two weeks to… get to grips with the matter.”

Hux moaned despite himself, fingernails sinking hard into Kylo’s pecs in futile punishment of the terrible pun while his hips shifted in an embarrassingly desperate rhythm.

“Ah, yes,” Kylo hissed, surging forward from his place amongst the pillows to sink his fingers into Hux’ hair. 

They came together, the sticky mess of ruined fabric ignored between them in favour of kissing through the aftershocks. 

“Fuck, it’s been a long time,” Hux muttered against Kylo’s lips as they slowed to a halt. 

“Same, don’t worry about it.” Kylo kissed him again, then looked down with a grimace to tug at his borrowed shirt. “Wow, I don’t usually get into that kind of play on a first date.”

There were small half moon bruises scattered across his pecs where Hux’ nails had bitten into his skin despite the fabric. In one or two places dots of blood were seeping to the surface.

“Urgh, I hope you’re clean,” Hux muttered, but he reached into the bedside table for a first aid kit all the same.

“Yeah, I was selling plasma before they shut everything down. Since then it’s just been me and my hand, but thanks for the concern,” Kylo knew he was pouting, but the cum sticking his pants to his skin was already starting to cool and the discomfort robbed him of his already limited patience. “You?”

“I’m fine, I got tested after I threw my cheating ex out, two years ago,” Hux mumbled the last few words under his breath as he clambered awkwardly off the bed, and began the slow fussy process of wriggling out of his own ruined underwear.

“This is the part where you apologise for being rude,” Kylo said. He’d paused in the act of wiping his chest with antiseptic, too distracted by the knot of bright orange pubic hair being revealed beside him. 

Hux looked up from throwing his red briefs into the hamper.

“Make me,” he smirked.

This was going to be a very interesting two weeks. If Kylo had known, he would have streaked that wedding for free.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my twitter @hux_gen for some exciting news.


End file.
